Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(4)

There was passion in those composers. She knew this, and they’d ruled her life for so long. She was happy with them—or had been.

Until him.

One song had started her down this path.

How many soundtrack songs had she played on? Too many to count.

Being second chair—previously being second chair—in the Boston Philharmonic had afforded her a measure of status, but not exactly a monetary one. She supplemented with studio work. From movie scores to the occasional contemporary song, she’d sold her talent to fatten her bank account.

Working with Oblivion shouldn’t have mattered.

It was just another job.

She’d told herself that when she’d taken the job for another album. To prove to herself that they were just another job.

Now it was so much worse. Untried and filled with testosterone more than talent, “The Becoming” had been an anomaly. That first song had been child’s play. The rest of the songs on that album were good—more than good. She’d listened to “Burn” on a number of occasions.

Watched live performances that had instantly constricted her lungs like a corset that was laced too tight. Nothing had prepared her this time.

Nothing.

Their album Rise had ruined her.

Their music shouldn’t be a guilty secret that had bloomed into a far reaching sickness. It had awakened something inside her that she didn’t understand or want to face.

But she had little choice now. She’d tried to hold onto her life with her fingernails and no amount of rosin could smooth out the frayed ends of her career.

A hiatus could be explained. Losing her chair...

No.

She wasn’t thinking about that now.

The plane began to taxi and the woman beside her tried to calm her shrieking child. Margo concentrated on the sandpaper over silk voice of the man who’d ruined her with a song. She pulled her sweater tighter around her.

It didn’t matter where she was, didn’t matter how inconvenient it was, her body flushed at the first chord. The lyrics to “Monster” wound around her senses, pushing her nipples against her bra and making her clit pound with the bassline. The feedback echo of Simon’s voice under each chorus was like a caress as her spine pressed back into the seat and the plane lifted.

Another time, another chair back...

She curled her fingers around the arms of her seat.

He’d looked up at her with those unearthly silvery blue eyes as he held her against the velvet chair. He didn’t know it, but his hand across her belly hadn’t been necessary. The first lash of his busy tongue had chained her to that chair. No matter how much she’d railed against it, she’d been lost to him.

She’d never even liked oral sex before that night in the booth. Before he’d shown her what sex was. What pleasure could be.

The same way he showed so many others.

She yanked her headphones out and opened her eyes. She stared into the headrest in front of her, stared until the nubby texture of the material came in clear and she breathed through the memory.

“Hate flying, too?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. She hated the flying that she did in her dreams, and when she got caught up in the music. That was accurate enough.

This was going to be the longest short flight in the history of life.

She tucked her phone away into her pocket and pulled out the magazine she’d purchased at the airport. Celebrity gossip and the inane antics of the faux celebrities that social media created had always been fascinating to her. It was so far removed from her life in the orchestra—what had been her life in the orchestra.

No.

She wouldn’t—couldn’t think about that right now.

Guilt clawed at her neck and base of her skull, letting loose enough poison to make her second-guess every decision for the last year. But she wouldn’t let it taint this week.

She would feed the swirling obsession that flowed through her blood like adrenaline and be done with Simon Kagan and Oblivion.

Lila Shawcross had invited her to the party and to play on the small stage with them. To rehearse this afternoon and help make the release party a social media explosion.

She’d get her name out then she’d move on to the next phase of her life. This, she could control. And she would. There was no other option.

She pulled her phone out again and launched her thunderstorm and rain app before tucking her headphones in again.

Sleep.

Just an hour.

Resolution made, she forced her mind to quiet.

And because she was a master at catnaps, she did. By the time the attendant made the announcement that they were landing, she’d managed to find a quiet corner of her mind.

When they came to a stop on the runway, she reached for her violin case. The little girl was tucked onto her mother’s shoulder, her thumb in her mouth. Both child and mother were beyond exhausted.

Margo couldn’t help herself. Quiet and sweet, the child lured her closer. She stroked her finger down her arm to her hand. The child curled her pinkie around Margo’s finger, took her thumb out of her mouth and spewed.

“Oh, my God.” The woman grabbed the diaper bag and pulled out three baby wipes in a blink. “I’m so sorry.”

Margo held up her hand. “Just hand me the wipes.” This is why she didn’t interact with kids. It never ended well.